


The Warrior and the Traveler

by riais



Series: Blood On Stone [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Character Development, Friendship, M/M, Magic, Pre-Slash, Prequel, Revenge, Swords & Sorcery, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riais/pseuds/riais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles ignores the whispers in the air and the weight of shadow upon his shoulders and presses on. He does not take his eyes off of Erik in front of him, nor does he fail to notice the way Erik's hands are tensed over the hilt of the broadsword at his hip, ready to fight should the curses of the mountain descend upon them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warrior and the Traveler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pallorsomnium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/gifts).



> I had a lot of fun writing this small story. I took your open-ended fantasy prompt as the perfect opportunity to write from a universe that I have had in my head for a very long time. This is only one small part of the story I would craft if I were to ever write it, but I hope it is a good enough stand alone that you enjoy what I've written here. Happy holidays!

“There is a darkness that rests in the crevices of these cliffs. A stronger man than you would walk willingly to his own death in this place.”

“Do not be so sure,” the young traveler replies with a smirk. His blue eyes glint in the light of the torch-fire as he holds out his hand to the warrior wrapped in dark furs, “I am not paying you to scare me, good sir. Only to lead me to the heart of the mountain’s path.”

The man grasps the young traveler’s hand, shaking it once, his grip firm and business-like, his hand calloused and weathered, “Very well,” he says, his accent curling his words down at the edges, heavy and unrefined, “We set out at dawn.”

\--

They meet at the mouth of the mountain path; the cliffs rise high on either side, bathing the trail in shadow despite the morning’s sun. The warrior waits, watching silently with his storm-grey eyes as the traveler ascends the path from the village.

“We have not traded names,” the traveler says as he reaches him. His quick breath billows out from his mouth in the cold air. His expression is bright, the youth bringing forth his youthful excitement to begin his quest.

The warrior is gruff in answer, “There are too many names this path has stolen. Keep yours to yourself, and I will not have the burden of adding your name to that list.”

The traveler presses his deep red lips into a thin line. “Of course,” he says, “but I would like to know your name. On the occasion I am screaming for help and in immediate danger of death, I must have a name to call. ‘Genoshian Warrior’ is much too heavy on the tongue and ‘Old Man’ is rude, even for me.”

The warrior looks at him, surprised, until the corners of his mouth draw up in a grin. “Erik,” he says, and laughs under his breath, “and I am not much older than you must be”

“Thank you, Erik,” the traveler says as he wraps his cloak tighter around himself. “I do hope you are as competent as the villagers have said. This quest is of great importance.”

“As they all are.”

“But of course.”

\--

The walk is quiet except for the crunching footsteps through the mountain snow. All day they walk, the traveler trailing behind only by paces, stepping in the footprints of the warrior.

The traveler ignores the whispers in the air and the weight of shadow upon his shoulders and presses on. He does not take his eyes off of Erik, nor does he fail to notice the way his hands are tensed over the hilt of the broadsword at his hip, ready to fight should the curses of the mountain descend upon them.

“How strong your sword must be if it is able to slice through shadow.”

“How sharp your wit must be if you carry not even a sword to your death,” Erik replies, glancing behind him.

The blue eyed traveler only smirks. As the corners of his mouth draw up he says, ‘We shall see.”

“That we shall,” Erik replies flatly.

\--

The creatures come for them at twilight with shining fangs and claws, crawling toward them over the rocks and ice from the shadows.

The reverberation of Erik’s sword echoes against the high walls of the mountain path as he strikes against the darkness. Red sparks fly from the steel as he slices again and again, pushing the monsters back. They howl, and it is such an inhuman screech that the traveler must cover his ears.

The blade is bewitched, this much the traveler can guess before he sees it suddenly burst into bright red flame. There is no fire that burns like this, sparking and flaring and striking out into the blackness.

Magic.

He has never seen it used so brazenly in the Western Reaches. Yet here stands a Genoshan - a people scorned for their devil-powers. Erik is the first he has met, as they scarce as they have become after the war. Erik pushes the creatures back with his powers and the blue-eyed traveler can only stare.

“You are a witch,” he says once the screeching has stopped and the creatures have fled.

“I am a swordsman.” Erik hefts his still glowing sword over his shoulder and turns calmly to face his traveling companion. “Is there a problem?”

The traveler swallows around his dry throat and pushes back the urge speak more of it. “Of course not.”

“Good,” Erik says, and sheaths his sword. The traveler senses a small amount of relief in the warrior’s voice. “We make camp here and set out at first light.”

\--

The creatures return, vengeful and snarling before dawn. Erik dispatches them, but not without difficulty. They pack and leave soon after.

\--

The deeper the men walk into the maze, the heavier the air feels. The shadows become stronger. The light of Erik’s sword dims.

Even the light of the sun does not reach this far into the mountain paths.

\--

Erik is distracted. The darkness approaches from all sides and they are forced back to back in the middle. The creatures snarl. White fangs and talons meld with the black air. There is no escape here. Erik gives a cry and a line blood seeps through the leg of his pants; there is no tear in the fabric. The darkness strikes and he bleeds.

Erik does not see the blue light that erupts from the traveler’s hand once he has fallen to his knees, only sensing the sudden charge in the air and the stink of burned curse-flesh after.

The creatures retreat, howling.

“The name is Charles.” Erik can only stare. Charles looks everywhere but his eyes.

“You are a sorcerer.”

“I am a traveler.”

“You are powerful. You do not have to fear the people’s hatred of magic when you are with me. Nor should you ever.”

Their eyes meet, Erik’s filled with pride and a harsh determination. Charles nods, after a moment, and decides he will trust this man with this shared thing between them.

\--

Charles does not call Erik a witch out of fear or hate. This term, in fact, is the only word he knows for those that spin the energies of the earth out of their fingertips. He speaks the word with awe and the smallest amounts of hope and wonder.

\--

“Now that I know your name, I suppose I should ask your quest.” Erik’s words echo off the high walls of the cliffs as they make their way through the maze. Charles now walks at his side, and they crunch two trails of snow down under their boots as they walk.

Charles looks at him and considers for a moment. “You are Genoshan,” he states.

“Yes. And?”

“There is a man that makes playthings of curses and demons. He seizes power with a wicked lying tongue and the hounds of Hell at his side. You may know of him. He once advised your King.”

Erik’s jaw clenches and he stops walking. A flash like fire burns briefly in his eyes, magic striking out at the behest of his anger. “You are speaking of the snake, Schmidt.”

“He is known as Shaw in this country, but yes, I speak of him.”

“And what does this man have to do with you?”

“He is responsible for the deaths of our Royal Family and the siege at Westchester.”

“Let them rot,” Erik says, his passion lacing his words with venom, “Your king is responsible for the invasion at Genosha and its destruction just as much as Schmidt is.”

Charles stares in astonishment. “You condemn the entirety of the Royal Family when you say that. His sons and wife were murdered, Erik. Shaw is responsible for the destruction of Genosha, not-”

“Xavier listened as Schmidt whispered poison into his ear. He did not have to be responsible for the deaths of my people, but he is.”

“That is not my point,” Charles snaps, suddenly, his amiable expression shattered for a short moment. “This man is responsible for all of it, regardless of either of our king’s actions. Please see this. No matter what has passed, our kings are dead and our countries are in ruins. It is Shaw’s doing, and I will see that he is stopped.”

“With what? The man is powerful enough to have the hounds of Hell at his side, as you said. What in this mountain could possibly kill him?”

“I never said kill.” Charles’ voice is exasperated as he looks away. He kicks at a pile of snow near his feet.

“It is implied.”

“It does not have to be.”

“Then you are more naive than your youth suggests,” Erik scowls and turns away. “Come. The darkness will be upon us soon. We are wasting time.”

They do not speak again for the rest of the day.

\--

“You are not the only one who has lost something,” Charles says quietly. They lay bundled in their sleeping bags on opposite sides of the campfire, Charles watching Erik through the crackling flames. Erik looks back at him but stays silent.

Charles continues. “I am not trying to compare to what you have lost, but I have suffered as well. I want to think that my pain matters as much as yours does. And I want to do something about it.”

“I tried for so long to get to him, but I am left with nothing. I am not without my need for vengeance. I am only at an impasse and have no way forward.”

“Then come with me. We do not have to do this alone.”

“I do not even know your plan,” Erik says, eyes focused on the flames as dance in the dark.

“If he is dead by the end of it, does that truly matter?”

“I thought that you did not want to imply death.”

“Yes, but I know that you would guarantee it.”

“I would.”

“Is that a yes?”

Erik grunts and rolls over. “I want to leave this mountain alive before I agree to anything.”

\---

By the seventh day, the men reach the mouth of the mountain cave. The darkness is so thick within that shadows writhe just out of reach.

“This is a death trap,” Erik says, “What treasure here could you possibly want that is worth your life?”

“There is no treasure,” Charles simply says, turning to face his guide, “There is only the amulet in which the curse resides.”

“You will kill yourself. And for what, power that will consume you? It will craft you into something not unlike the man you hunt.”

“I have the strength to cleanse it. I am prepared.”

“Are you? For death?”

“No." Charles gazes back at him, calmly, "I am prepared to give this kingdom hope again.” He steps toward the cave opening and glances back before the shadows engulf him completely

Erik curses under his breath and follows after.


End file.
